


knowing me, knowing you

by wolfiewithpanthereyes (wolfwithpanthereyes)



Series: That One Trope I Love (Unfinished Bodyswap WIPs) [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bodyswap, Multi, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithpanthereyes/pseuds/wolfiewithpanthereyes
Summary: A routine mission goes wrong, leaving our three agents in each other's bodies.





	knowing me, knowing you

And here, Illya learned something new about Gaby: she was terrible at holding her alcohol.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely new information. Illya had witnessed Gaby down only a few shots of vodka on their first mission together, and the dancing/fighting/breakages/sleepiness that had followed in rapid succession, but on later finding out Gaby was working as a double agent, Illya had assumed that night was an act. 

Apparently not. This was only his fifth gulp of vodka and already the room had begun to sway. It was pitiful, really. At least it distracted him from the terrible crawling sensation he’d experienced since the incident earlier, when the three of them had recovered enough from the explosion in the lab to find themselves each possessing a new yet hauntingly familiar face. 

Illya reached for the bottle again and the room rocked like a boat on a gentle sea. He became momentarily distracted by the sight of his arm stretched before him - browner and slimmer and shorter than his own; if they were stuck like this Illya believed he would never grow used to the sight of this arm attached to himself - before upending the bottle into his glass.

“You might want to slow down there, Peril,” a familiar voice chimed in, and - ah, yes, it was his own voice, tainted with traces of Solo’s American accent. Illya raised his head and met his own - chest. Because Illya was the short one now, and Solo the tall. Illya adjusted his gaze to meet Solo’s, wondering how Gaby avoided hurting her neck whenever she usually stared up at him. There was an easy grin on Solo’s face, an expression Illya was entirely unused to seeing even as a reflection, and a pearl of laughter from Gaby beside them. 

“Oh, Illya! You look handsome when you smile!” Unlike Illya, Gaby’s alcohol tolerance levels appeared to have stuck with her regardless of the body she was wearing. She had already tugged Solo’s tie loose around her neck and begun to unbutton his stained waistcoat. None of them had yet changed clothes since the lab incident. “Not that you don’t look handsome normally, but it’s - it’s _different_.”

“You can say that again, _Cowboy_,” Solo replied, jokingly attempting a Russian accent. It came out a little too high-pitched for Illya’s liking, and he hoped he didn’t actually sound like that whenever he used that nickname on Solo. Gaby’s laugh, despite Solo’s throaty tones, sounded rather similar to her usual drunken giggle, so Illya figured he was in the clear for now. “You’re looking rather fetching yourself tonight, Mister Solo,” Solo added, raising his glass towards Gaby with a wink, and it was all Illya could do not to roll his eyes as he downed his own vodka. 

“Seriously, though, Peril.” Solo patted Illya’s knee and Illya stared at it, at this pale hand that looked so large against his slim little leg. “Ease up, you’ve been swaying for the last ten minutes at least.”

Illya shook his head, huffing at the loose strands of chestnut hair that fell into his face at the action. “I’m fine,” he said tensely, but the room was still rocking, so it was possible Solo had a point.

“You’re not.” Gaby sat up straighter and placed her glass on the coffee table with a heavy chink. She stilled for a second, possibly at the unexpected reminder of her new body’s strength, and then leaned towards Illya, tucking the loose hair behind his ears for him. “You should go sleep this off.”

For some reason, looking at Gaby looking at him through Solo’s eyes was stranger than Solo looking at Illya with Illya’s own eyes. It was probably a matter of perspective - Illya had no idea how to act around his body as an external object, but he knew how to work with Solo. And now Solo’s body was taller than his own and everything about it was a little larger, and the prickling unease at knowing this body Illya was in wasn’t his own was making an unwelcome return. Illya reached for the bottle once more to hold the sensation at bay.

His hand was only halfway towards it when the room suddenly spun madly around him, tilting and upending until the floor was far beneath him, and it took Illya a good moment to realise this was because Solo had scooped Illya up into his arms, as if Solo were a groom and Illya his bride. 

“Solo!” Illya kicked out, protesting even as he grasped at the sweater Solo was wearing - his own, Illya could vaguely remember picking it out that very morning - so he wouldn’t fall. This wasn’t just confusing, this was _embarrassing_. “Put me down!”

“No can do.” Solo grinned down at him, his expression so reminiscent of the one Illya often saw on Solo’s own face that Illya wanted to punch him regardless of who was in who’s body. “Gaby’s right, you should sleep this off.”

Gaby, still seated on the couch and gazing at them with interest, gave a small hum of acknowledgement. 

“Put me down!” Illya repeated, aware that Solo had no intention whatsoever of doing so, but refusing to give in and let himself be carried like a child without a fight. As predicted, Solo continued to hold Illya in his arms, moving towards the adjourning bedroom Illya had claimed as his own when they moved into this apartment last week.

“Sleep well, Illya!” Gaby called out merrily, as Solo carried Illya across the bedroom’s threshold. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

Illya grumbled something incomprehensible even to himself and gave in. He tucked his forehead against Solo’s chest, the sweater itchy against his cheek. He felt tiny, like a helpless kitten, and he wondered if Gaby felt like this. He’d have to ask her about it sometime. 

“Your body’s certainly good for something,” Solo said, heading towards the bed. “It feels like I’m holding nothing right now.”

“Thank you,” Illya said dryly. Now that he wasn’t fighting, there was something almost comforting about being held and carried - not that he was ever going to admit it. The feeling of helplessness was still discomforting.

“Welcome.” Illya expected Solo to just drop him onto the bed and leave, but instead, Solo gently lowered him down, as if it were really Gaby in his arms and not his Russian ally. 

“Looks like you’re sleeping in the dress. Be sure not to crease it too much, alright?” Solo hesitated, and then ploughed on: “If this lasts longer than we expect, you’ll have Gaby’s pyjamas tomorrow to sleep in. Probably. I’m sure she’d let you wear them, they’re hardly likely to fit well on the body she’s currently wearing.”

Illya grumbled again, turning his face into the welcoming cool surface of the pillow. He was considering now that maybe his friends had been right, and sleep was the best option. “Night, cowboy,” he said roughly, voice muffled slightly against the bedding, and then added as an afterthought, “do not do anything with my body that I would not do.”

There was a heartbeat pause, and then: “Wouldn’t dream of it. Scouts’ honour.” 

Illya groaned and wanted to reply with _You were never a Boy Scout,_ but his eyes had closed of their own accord and his bed was feeling more comfortable than it had done all week. He stretched his legs out like a cat, feeling a gentle tug all the way down from his shoulders to the tips of his toes, and for once his feet didn’t stick out over the end.

“Sleep tight, Peril,” Solo whispered, voice fainter as he moved away, and finally, Illya gave in and fell asleep.

***

Another thing Illya now knew about Gaby: she hadn’t been faking her hangover in Rome, that morning after he’d carried her to bed. 

Illya forced his eyes open, gritting his teeth as his head throbbed gently. For a moment he lay there, staring blearily at the patterns the morning sunlight made on the bedroom floor as it tried to escape through the blinds, and then, slowly, he shifted his hand into his line of vision. 

Still small, still feminine. 

Illya hadn’t expected otherwise, but nevertheless he felt the small hope that the events of yesterday had all been a dream fizzle away to nothing. He pushed himself upright, ignoring the twinge of protest from his headache, and swore softly in his native language. Something was digging sharply into his chest. Illya automatically reached for whatever it was, but then he realised and his hand stilled.

It was to avoid situations like this, Illya supposed, that Gaby always insisted on sleeping in her pyjamas. He stared down at the body he was currently occupying - the white and cerulean of Gaby’s dress covered from neck down to mid-thigh. Modest enough, and yet… Illya focused his attention on the ceiling and dug his fingers into the fabric, roughly adjusting the brasserie underneath so its wire was no longer pressing into his - into Gaby’s breasts. 

Illya really hoped Waverly had been right yesterday, when he’d told them over the phone that the U.N.C.L.E. scientists assigned to work on the lab’s remnants would have a way to switch them back before too long.

Eventually, Illya managed to clamber out of bed and stagger into the main room of their apartment, struggling to adjust to his new centre of gravity. They had forgotten to close the blinds in here last night - the room was illuminated by sunlight now, strong and too bright. Illya took one glance and made a quick trip back into his room, grabbing his sunglasses and jamming them onto his face. They fell down his nose almost instantly and he made a mental note to trade them for Gaby’s later.

Speaking of which…

Now that the light wasn’t quite as blinding through the lenses, he could make out his partners clearly. They were both still fast asleep: Solo sitting but sprawled with his head tilted back, snoring softly, while Gaby curled against his side with her head resting in Solo’s lap. His arm was draped over her shoulders protectively, as if she had fallen asleep first or he had been the one to insist on this sleeping arrangement.

Something curled and tensed in Illya’s stomach at the sight of his own body and Solo’s in such a compromising position, yet the two of them looked peaceful enough that it would be almost a shame to wake them.

Almost.

Illya pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and moved closer towards them. Gaby was his first choice to wake, considering she effectively had Solo trapped beneath her (presuming they hadn’t traded bodies again overnight), but Illya didn’t think she would appreciate the sight of her own face being the first thing she saw. Which left Solo. Illya touched his shoulder lightly, and the feel of the fabric beneath his hand recalled a hazy memory from last night, when Illya had felt that fabric against his cheek. He shook the memory away quickly and squeezed Solo’s shoulder instead.

Solo’s snoring stilled, his body tensing underneath Illya’s touch until his eyes fluttered open. 

“Hmm?” 

“Time to wake, Cowboy,” Illya said, Gaby’s voice spilling from his mouth in a teasing manner he hadn’t planned. 

There was a twitch of a smile on Illya’s old face as Solo grew more alert, but not alert enough to recall their current situation. Illya had hoped calling the American by his usual nickname would be enough. “What, Gaby, are you playing at being Illya now?” 

Illya considered making a joke about how Solo was playing at it well enough himself, but then Gaby started stirring and Solo looked down at her.

For a split second various expressions raced across Solo’s face that Illya didn’t have time to recognise, and then Solo groaned, sinking further down into the couch and clasping a hand to his face, no doubt seeking confirmation. 

“Ah, right… the swapping thing… that still you, Peril?” 

Illya nodded. 

“Take it I’m still you, then.” 

Illya nodded again. 

“It wasn’t a dream?” Gaby had woken now, covering her mouth to hide a yawn and then frowning as she scratched at her cheek. “I think I need a shave.” 

Solo was shifting from side to side underneath her, looking considerably uncomfortable now. 

“Uh. Gaby? Not that I dislike snuggling with myself at all, but could you allow me to get up?” 

Gaby groaned but sat up, blinking bleary eyes as Solo quickly got to his feet and headed straight in the direction of the bathroom. Illya felt like he should say something - a protest? Advice? Instead, he waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut and then, feeling even more uncomfortable with their situation, took Solo’s vacant position on the couch. 

“You know,” Gaby said hesitantly, fiddling with the tie still slung loose around her neck.  
“He’s got it easier than us. At least he knows what he’s doing in there.” 

Illya dropped his aching head into his hands, long tendrils of brown hair spilling out through his fingers, and groaned yet again.

***

Under no circumstances were Gaby and Illya to know Napoleon had misjudged his new height and hit his head off the showerhead. Especially Illya. 

It had ruined what would otherwise have been a perfectly welcoming shower. Sure, Napoleon had witnessed Illya dressed in nothing more than a towel before, but it was an entirely different matter when he was the one possessing Illya’s body, and he could touch and probe and examine however he wanted. 

Napoleon was a little surprised, then, that his preferred showering method today involved a lot of averted eyes and only the lightest of touches as the water ran over his temporary (Napoleon hoped) body. Touching Illya was something that Napoleon certainly wished to do, but he would prefer to do so under other circumstances. When Illya was the mind within the body, for one. 

He lathered up on the shampoo, teasing blond strands before his eyes and marvelling at the difference. Napoleon had not had a proper chance to examine the body he now resided in until now: the three of them had headed straight to their little rented apartment after leaving the THRUSH laboratory and all made a beeline directly towards the cabinet they had stocked with liquor upon their arrival earlier in the week. This mission was meant to have been an easy one, and they should have been celebrating a job well done. Instead, stuck in each other’s bodies and feeling all lopsided, they’d started drinking to feel better about the whole incident.

Which had been fine last night, but if Napoleon was to be resident of Illya’s body for much longer, a shower and a change of clothes was most definitely in order. 

He emerged from the bathroom, towel finally wrapped around his waist after a few clumsy attempts with Illya’s larger fingers, his hair dripping straight across his forehead rather than curling up. Gaby and Illya were still on the couch, and Napoleon assumed they had been discussing private matters, because they had fallen silent the minute he opened the bathroom door. 

“Zero problems, Peril,” he reported cheerfully, pointedly not mentioning the ache on his scalp that was bound to develop into a bump. “Your body’s all in good order.”

“I did not expect you to shower.” Illya was frowning, as per usual. The expression surprisingly didn’t look too out of place on Gaby’s face.

Napoleon shrugged. “It was that, or be covered in goodness-knows-what when you receive your body back. Besides, I already had to be… intimate, due to other matters.”

Illya’s frown deepened while Gaby grinned, no doubt amused. Napoleon didn’t have the heart to remind her that she would have to go through a similar process soon, and one that would no doubt be a little more traumatic, considering the new anatomy she had gained. 

“Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go root through Peril’s wardrobe for something that doesn’t look unfashionable.” He stepped automatically towards his own room, paused, then redirected himself. “Gaby, may I speak to you in private for a moment?”

He was treated to the sight of his own body clambering to its feet. Gaby had allowed his suit to become dishevelled in a way that made Napoleon’s skin crawl, no thanks to the explosion which had caused this ordeal in the first place. Sleeping curled up on his lap, however, probably hadn’t helped. 

“What do you want, Solo?” Gaby asked once both of them were in Illya’s room and Napoleon had begun to pick through Illya’s suitcase. 

“Just wanted to check if you were comfortable, that’s all.” Had Illya brought nothing but turtlenecks for this mission? 

“Comfortable enough. Why?” 

Napoleon straightened up and made for the wardrobe. “Gaby, you’re wearing my property right now. It’s… certainly different to the body you’re used to.” 

“And?” Gaby was beginning to sound annoyed. Or what he assumed was annoyance. It was quite disquieting, hearing her speak in his own voice and being unable to recognise his own tones.

Napoleon pretending to examine the sleeve of a dress jacket. “Gaby, when a man needs to use the bathroom, he-”

Gaby let out a quick German curse. “_That’s_ what you want to talk to me about?”

“It’s my body, I’d prefer if it was returned in top condition,” Napoleon replied primly, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Surely you’ve had a similar talk with Illya?” 

Gaby rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight so one hip jutted to the side, a feminine pose that looked entirely out of place on his own body. “I attempted one. He didn’t seem to take it too well.”

“You could have waited until I was out, I would have enjoyed seeing that reaction.” Napoleon began pulling clothes off their hangers, lying them ready on the bed. Not his usual first choice, but it would do for now. “But let’s discuss you. Me. You in me.” 

Gaby eyed him like she wouldn’t mind him stripping off the towel there and then, and wasn’t _that_ an interesting expression to see on his own face. Then the tenseness drained from her and she slumped with a groan onto the end of the bed, looking up at him with new determination in her gaze. "Alright, Solo. You want to tell me how to be a man? Go right ahead.”

Napoleon did. In full detail.

He was surprised to find out that his original face could blush in quite that colour.

***

"That shirt is not meant to go with that tie.”

Napoleon glanced down at the tie he had picked from his own clothes to wear with the suit he had found in Illya’s wardrobe. “Must be something wrong with your eyes, Peril. It works.”

“It does not,” Illya insisted with a scowl.

For once, Napoleon didn’t have the urge to argue back. “It doesn’t matter,” he said instead, draping himself across the couch beside where Illya still sat. His shins bumped uncomfortably against the coffee table at this angle, so he swung them up onto Illya’s lap without requesting permission. “It’s not like we’ll be leaving the apartment in this condition, after all. Just you, me, and Gaby. Cozy.”

Illya glowered at him from behind too-large sunglasses. Napoleon smiled back innocently, or with as much innocence as the face he was wearing could muster.

“Besides,” he added, unable to resist an additional tease. “Are you really going to argue about my fashion choices when you’re the one wearing a dress?”

Illya stiffened underneath him. Napoleon waited.

“...it’s a fashionable dress,” Illya replied finally. “It works on Gaby.”

Napoleon grinned. “It sure does, Miss Teller.”

“Miss Teller what?” Gaby had emerged from the bathroom, one towel tied around her waist the way Napoleon had demonstrated not long before, another slung around her neck. She clutched the suit she had been wearing to the centre of her chest as an additional modesty.

“Oh, I was just complimenting Peril here on how he pulls that dress off.” Napoleon indicated Illya with a wave of his hand. “Rather fetching.”

Gaby stared at them both for a long moment, then nodded approvingly. “Yes, I do look nice in that one. Stand up for me, Illya?”

“I can’t move anywhere with Cowboy’s feet squishing me,” Illya muttered.

Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, Peril, they’re your feet."

“I don’t go around flattening people with them.”

“Think of it as a compliment to how comfy you are! Maybe I’ll sleep in your lap tonight, instead of having Gaby sleep in mine again.”

“Solo,” Gaby interjected quickly, before Illya could come up with a retort. “Could you just move your legs?”

“If you say so.” Napoleon shrugged, reluctantly shifting so that Illya could wriggle out from underneath him. Illya stood up, jabbing his glasses back up his nose and muttering something under his breath that Napoleon didn’t catch.

“Good!” Gaby took a deep breath and hesitantly placed the clothes she was carrying onto the table, revealing her bare chest between the lengths of towel hanging from her neck. Napoleon flashed her a thumbs up in encouragement. “Now, Illya, give me a twirl, yes?”

“No,” Illya said flatly.

“Please?” Gaby battered her eyelashes, causing Napoleon to grimace and make a mental note to never repeat that action once he was himself again. “For me?”

Napoleon had seen Illya give into Gaby’s fluttering eyelashes many a time - usually when she wanted the salt passed across the table or for him to hand her a certain wrench from her toolbox - but this time, Illya remained stubborn.

“You look like Solo. I can refuse Solo.”

“But I’m not Solo. Not really.” Gaby ran a hand back through her drying curls. “Can’t you do this one thing?”

“Go on, Peril, give us a show,” Napoleon added with a wide grin.

Illya gave him a look that suggested he’d rather be fighting a wild bear and half-heartedly turned on the spot.

Gaby clasped her hands together in glee. “There we go!”

“This,” Illya declared, viciously shoving his glasses upwards before they slid down his nose again, “is stupid.”

“Stupid it may be, but I hope I remember this moment for the rest of my life,” Napoleon said sincerely.

Gaby gave a small hum of agreement. “We shouldn’t have let you sleep in that dress, though. It’ll take Solo a while to iron all the wrinkles out."

“Worth it.” Napoleon sat up straight, stretching his arms above his head. Napoleon had always thought of himself as a tall and solidly built man, but Illya was on a whole other level of tall and solid. Illya had a body built for sprawling. It was a wonder he managed to usually be as composed as he was. “Gaby, want me to shave you now?”

“Shouldn’t you be shaving me?” Illya, standing at Gaby’s full height of 5′’5′, barely towered over Napoleon’s slouched form as he leaned forward and lightly touched Napoleon’s cheek. It felt nice.

“I figured I’d grow a beard." Napoleon caught Illya’s wrist and, doing something he never would have dared had they been in their rightful bodies on this fine morning, kissed the back of his hand. “I’m curious to see how you would appear with one.”

Illya yanked his hand back quickly and wiped it on his dress, scowling again. “I’d prefer you didn’t, but if you must.”

“Well, I’m not planning on growing one for Solo.” Gaby gathered up the discarded suit. “Illya, your turn for the bathroom.”

“No.”

Gaby raised an eyebrow. Napoleon wondered if it was a move that came naturally for her, in his body. “No? If I had to wash-” She gave a wave at the body she was currently wearing,  
“-this, you can do the same.”

Napoleon felt vaguely insulted despite himself.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Illya insisted.

“It’s a necessity,” Gaby insisted right back.

“But-”

“If I were currently in your position, Peril, a shower behind a locked door would be the first thing on my mind,” Napoleon supplied with a grin, fully aware he was being not-at-all helpful.

It was worth the looks he received from both of them.

“What were you doing in there?” Illya hissed, somehow managing to twist Gaby’s voice into something closely resembling his own.

Napoleon quickly raised his hands, a gesture of surrender. "Woah there! I did nothing to your body, remember?”

“I am meant to take your word for it?” Illya’s hands had balled into fists at his hips.

“You think I’m the kind of man to get excited about being in another man?” Napoleon attempted to raise an eyebrow automatically and silently hoped the movement carried over into this body.

“That’s-” Illya's glasses slipped again and his fists uncurled at his sides as he hurried to adjust them. He looked rather flustered, and suddenly it hit Napoleon that his words may have been mistaken by the Soviet for something else entirely. For once, Napoleon had not intended the innuendo. “I did not-”

“Boys.” Gaby interrupted with a loud groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. Apparently she had noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Illya’s reaction. “Shut up. Illya, go take the shower. I’ll help if it bothers you that much. Solo, go - cook breakfast or something.”

“Fine.” Napoleon stood up - a process that seemed more about unfolding his limbs than merely getting to his feet - and looked towards Illya with renewed interest. Just because Napoleon hadn’t meant for what he had said to be taken that way at all... well, he could still appreciate the reaction.

Napoleon grinned at them both, slow and easy. “You two take your time in there. Gaby, you may want to put a shirt on first - but feel free not to.”

***

Gaby patted her face dry before lowering the towel to check she’d done an alright job - and _urgh_, she was not going to get used to this.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. Okay, being able to control Solo this way was somewhat amusing. Nicking his jaw with the razor hadn’t been fun in the slightest, but as the shortest of her teammates, Gaby rather liked the extra height spurt. She stepped away from the bedroom sink, breathing deeply as she drew herself up to Solo’s full height before bending forward. Gaby could touch her toes in her own body with a practised ease, whereas Solo’s spine began complaining before her outstretched fingers reached past her knees. Interesting.

“Having fun?”

Gaby instantly shot upright, a knee-jerk reaction that nearly cracked something in the small of her back, then mentally scolded herself for her abruptness. Solo stood in the doorway, grinning at her in a most un-Illya way, and Gaby refused to allow herself to be embarrassed by this.

“You need to stretch more,” she said instead.

Solo shrugged, not looking offended in the slightest. “You’re probably right. Anyway, breakfast is nearly done and Illya’s still in the bathroom. Figured you’d want to check on him.”

Yes, Gaby probably would, especially considering the time she had taken getting dressed herself. She had fiddled with one of Solo’s suits for far too long before giving up and pulling on a sweater of Illya’s. Not to mention the whole shaving experiment with the bedroom sink. “Sure.” She glanced in the mirror again, fingers catching on the short hairs at the back of her neck where she was used to long hair.

“Oh, and Gaby?”

“Yes?”

Solo tapped the side of his jaw. “Be a bit more careful if you try that again, will you?”

Gaby touched her face abruptly. She’d thought it would have stopped bleeding by now.

A minute later, with the addition of a small scrap of tissue clinging to her face like a pallid mosquito, she rapped sharply on the bathroom door. “Illya? You okay in there?”

“Yes,” came the quick response over the faded sound of rushing water.

“You sure?”

The water stopped running. There was a pause, where Gaby debated asking the question again, and then a sudden loud smash.

Gaby threw herself against the door without thinking. “Illya!” The door creaked under her weight but didn’t give. Footsteps sounded behind her; Solo must have heard the noise too. “Illya, what-”

The door swung open and Gaby stumbled, catching hold of the doorframe.

“I’m _fine_,” Illya snapped.

“You sure, Peril?” That was Solo, sounding as concerned as Gaby felt.

“I just-” Illya faltered for a moment, the angry façade momentarily despatching. “I misjudged the size of the bath and I tripped.”

Gaby hastily checked him over, which was a little difficult when she was unsure of her own natural state outside of mirrors and photographs. Illya’s skin looked slightly redder, but that was probably from the water; he seemed to be standing okay… and here Gaby’s quick examination stopped.

Gaby had fully stripped for her shower earlier, much against her better judgement. Illya, on the other hand, currently stood in the bathroom doorway wearing sodden underwear.

Gaby might even be pleased with how Illya was respecting her body, if only Solo hadn’t been here to share the view.

“Right,” Gaby said briskly, jostling Illya back into the bathroom and ignoring Solo’s protests as she closed the door behind them. 

Illya glared up at her, his skin still flushed, droplets of moisture clinging to his shoulders and arms. Gaby remembered dressing herself in that underwear yesterday, but it was so sodden now the nude fabric was near-transparent, and-

And apparently Solo’s body appreciated the sight regardless of its current resident. Great.

Gaby cleared her throat abruptly and turned away, fumbling for the last clean towel left. “If you’re okay, I trust you can dry yourself. I’ll leave some clothes on my bed, you can wear those.”

Illya nodded with a frown, messy ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Great!” Gaby shoved the towel at him and swiftly left the bathroom herself.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted back in 2015 on the TMFU kinkmeme - I always meant to go back and finish it, but it ended up stuck in WIP hell. Maybe I'll get a burst of future inspiration after a future rewatch of the film (I do hope so), but since it's been four years, here it is, complete with me using an ABBA song for a title rather than 'tmfu bodyswap fic' as I've been calling it that entire time.


End file.
